


Brave New World

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Companions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave New World

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Series spoilers for everything through the season two finale. Also, this was written before the start of season three so it's a little AU-ish in that John never left New York. You've been warned.
> 
> 2\. It's a slow build thing told from Harold's POV one day while they're in the Library but it was what I was in the mood for.

_“You look especially handsome today, Harold. New suit?” John asked teasingly._

_Harold sighed, then turned to face him. “Why do you insist on engaging in these flirtations when we both know you're not interested?”_

He was tired, so very tired, that he couldn't help himself. Couldn't take the time or energy to evade or refrain. And John had looked... Caught? Guilty? That was three days ago. Detective Carter, Joss, has been gone a month now. He checks in on her son and ex-husband frequently and Lionel every day. Not that it's necessary. They are survivors.

It is John who is wearing thin around the edges. Granted, being so close to death can do that to a man. He watches him, unable to let go while thinking he should. If it's what John needs to move on he must find the strength. Only there is none. Not for that. He and Miss Shaw have finally nursed him back to health. Hours spent reading from books John likes and feeding him ice chips, Jello, protein shakes until he could stand solid food again, holding his hand when the ghosts came to haunt his dreams. Today John sits and waits for intel on their latest number, playing fetch with Bear, whose nails click in fits and starts against the smooth ceramic tile while Harold works.

“You should take some aspirin. And eat your lunch,” John says suddenly.

When Harold looks over at him he is petting Bear affectionately, observing calmly. Harold is not supposed to find it soothing, being seen. Being known. The headache isn't bad so it's not yet written in the tense lines around his eyes. His stomach is beginning to grumble though. Surely John's senses have picked up on these clues. It's not like-.

“I never said I wasn't interested, Harold.”

Harold's heart skips a beat as his brain supplies him with the thought that John had seemed scared, not guilty. 'I never said...' It's an open statement. A beginning without end, contingent upon his reply. John has such striking features. Handsome, slightly arrogant, even severe at times. Of course, when he smiles he shines brighter than the sun.

“No expectations. I'm happy to call you friend.”

Harold knows this John, his John, means every word. He will settle for what they have now if Harold so chooses. If he doesn't want more. He's read his files, done the research, is aware that sex and love are two entirely different things to the man and rarely have the two met. It gives him pause.

He harbors feelings for the younger man. There's no point in denying it. And there's no one else he'd rather have at his side saving the numbers from themselves, from each other. But is he in love with him? Does he want him? They are companions in the truest sense, he and John. They've both lost too much already so he cautiously calculates the risks. After some consideration he realizes the most important, becoming each other's weakness, has already happened, but the benefits? He's missed the intimacy, the contentment he shared with Grace despite the secrets he kept.

John's head hangs low. Bear licks his cheek sympathetically, causing Harold's mouth to quirk involuntarily at the corners. This is his family, he thinks. A dog who follows Dutch commands but loves Chinese food and a man who has the power to heal or hurt, to kill or create, using his bare hands.

“John? Would you like to come home with me tonight?” The invitation slips out before he can reel it back in, catching them both off-guard.

John's head lifts, his face breaking out into a small, shy smile. “I'd love to,” he replies, not attempting to hide the sweet flush heating up his skin.

Harold doesn't stop himself from smiling in return. Indulgently, he asks, “What am I going to do with you?”

It's a rhetorical question until John responds with, “Everything,” without hesitation or fear.

It sounds terrible, impossible, incredible and wonderful all at once. Coming from someone like this particularly peculiar man it sounds like a burden and a blessing. One Harold simply refuses to allow him to lay on anyone else. Everything. What an unfamiliar, welcome concept...

“Everything,” Harold repeats the promise.

John kisses him softly one time to seal the deal, then again just because he can.


End file.
